Under the Moon
by alittlewhos-this
Summary: Thomas runs into an old friend, which sparks a different flame.


Though the morning's sun had been brilliant, it was now to be found halting behind the clouds in a way that Thomas cursed. Of course it would try for rain once he found himself free of work. He paused for a moment to look up and glare at the sky, finding himself momentarily alone when he looked down to find Jimmy a good many paces ahead of him, only having just halted. "I don't know that'll help it, Mr. Barrow," he called back with laugh. "It could," Thomas responded. He frowned. "If you've got powers to stop the rain, you're bloody wasted in service," Jimmy said once the gap between them was bridged. He tapped his thumb into Thomas's ribs. "No, see, I can make it rain on their picnics." "And you never managed that before I had to serve at one?" "Does you good to get your hair wet every now and again. Keeps you as humble as you're likely to get." "Bastard," Jimmy said, amiably knocking his shoulder into Thomas's arm. They ambled along, no definite plans as to their destination. If Thomas had any idea as to Jimmy after all this time, they'd probably wind up in a pub. Thomas thought it something of a waste, but Jimmy had insisted before that the the class of people in London was different than what was to be found near Downton. For the places Jimmy could afford, Thomas couldn't see how they were; a London accent held no greater sway over him than his own. Once more, Thomas found himself held up - this time, for pleasure. A rather smart suit in a store-front wept for him. Slimly cut, double-breasted, deep brown with a small tan pin-stripe. It was the sort of thing that was entirely superfluous - how often did he find himself in need of a fine suit? - but the only continuous burden on his wages was cigarettes. He wasn't averse to spending what was, almost assuredly for his position, rather too much on a suit. As he stood, he memorised the look of the thing so that he could come back at some point without Jimmy to buy it. He doubted Jimmy had much interest in watching him talk with a tailor. As he turned to leave, once again briefly abandoned, he found himself in brief collision. Before he realised who it was, tilting his hat back on his head, the man spoke. "Christ. Thomas." Jimmy cried out for him and Thomas stared awkwardly at Philip for a moment. "Hallo," he finally offered, whereupon Philip took his hand and shook it. This wasn't a situation he'd hoped to run into, literally or not. Least of all with Jimmy in tow, he thought, a little frantically, watching the younger man approach. "Got yourself an heiress?" Thomas asked, wondering as though from several yards away whether or not he could said anything more stupid. He was feeling terribly off-kilter. Fortunately, Philip only laughed. "Yes, as a matter of fact. And you," he said, his eyes following Jimmy as resumed his place at Thomas's side. "Well." Thomas felt a sting of pride at the mistake - Philip thought that they were a couple. Under-butler to a great house and someone like Jimmy in his bed. He didn't know whether to let the illusion to go on; if Philip thought he was in like company, he wasn't unlikely to say something immensely embarrassing, intentionally or not. Neither did Thomas want to dissuade from such a genuinely pleasant fancy. Then, he didn't find himself with a terrible degree of choice in the matter. There was one old-practised thing which he could say to Philip with his eyes. He wasn't able to tell an entire uncomfortable history with a stare. Jimmy looked between the two of them in their silence before Philip finally spoke up. "And your friend is -?" "Jimmy Kent," Thomas said, inclining his head in the aforementioned's direction. He looked at Philip for a moment with his brows screwed together, unsure which introduction would be the least awkward. He received a shrug in response. "Philip, er - " If he had ever known the man's surname, it had been long lost to his memory. "'Philip''s quite all right," he assured. Jimmy gave Thomas an odd sort of look, one which he didn't care to read into, before nodding briefly at Philip. Philip nodded in return before failing to suppress a grin at Thomas, which he also didn't care to read into. "I was about to get a drink. Would you two care - " "He wouldn't like it," Thomas bit out immediately, shaking his head. "What?" Jimmy asked, incredulity warping his face into one of his more comical masks. He turned to face Thomas more fully while Thomas steadfastly avoided looking at him. Philip gave Jimmy a rather intent looking-over, before cocking his eyebrow at Thomas. "He would." "Philip, he wouldn't," Thomas said, skirting the edges of desperation. He had a sudden flash that this strange conversation was probably no less obvious than anywhere Philip was likely to take them, but Jimmy had never shown himself to be entirely adept at picking up the obvious when it came down to such matters. "Would you like to?" Philip asked, shifting his view to Jimmy. "Unless he's gone teetotal, perhaps we can both convince him." Jimmy bounced onto the balls of his feet, smirking at Thomas's what-was-surely-obvious unease. "Why not? C'mon, Mr. Barrow. I'd like to hear some tales." "Do you know, I may have some," Philip said. Thomas found his gaze and caught it up in his own, shaking his head. Thomas was sure he'd gone a terrific shade of red. He stood for a moment in silence, both of the men watching him, vaguely hoping that this was all a most unfortunate dream. As soon as the hope surfaced, a damning raindrop hit the brim of his hat. This was his life. "Fine. Yes," he finally said, frowning. He glared slightly at Philip. "You'd better buy something expensive." "How else to greet an old friend?" 


End file.
